by Martin Burke
On the Lebanon border
The cedars weep
The orchards do not yield their fruit
And shells litter the shadows
Like broken arguments of peace.
History has come
And it seems some harsh necessity prevails
Above the exile’s song
And this verse that weeps with the cedars.
The orchards weep
The children weep
The exile cries aloud in desolation
Martin Burke is a widely published Irish poet/playwright living in Belgium whose latest e-book Gilgamesh is freely available from Cervena Barva Press.
